


I'd follow you down

by skytramp



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Breathplay, M/M, Psycho Pass AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4203492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skytramp/pseuds/skytramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harasawa Katsunori, Enforcer and former Inspector for the MWPSB, and his partner, Lead Inspector Imayoshi Shouichi have a string of murders to investigate, but there is more going on than what it seems, and Harasawa will get in way too deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How did you get that way?

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Lana Del Rey song Million Dollar Man and if you want to know anything about imahara just listen to that song or Off to the Races from the same album. It's ridiculous. 
> 
> Anyhow, have fun.

The rain pounded hard on the pavement, and, not for the first time, Harasawa was grateful that dominators were waterproof. It was always raining in this city, gloomy and dark even in the late afternoon, and he no longer questioned the prevalence of latent criminalism in the region; it just made sense. He crossed the cordoned off street with quick paces, hearing Imayoshi’s steps behind him, splashing with his expensive shoes. 

“What’s the hurry, Harasawa, you got a hot date?” Imayoshi called, and Harasawa ignored him, kicking open the warehouse door instead. The building was dark, supposedly empty, but the scanners had picked up a dead body inside, and there was always a worry that the culprit could be hiding somewhere. 

He held the dominator close to his chest as he stepped inside and Imayoshi followed him. He’d always felt they were bulky, too large, less capable than a simple pistol like the one he kept in his chest holster beneath his jacket. It was quieter and drier inside but the prickling on Harasawa’s neck hadn’t been from the cold. 

“To the right.” Imayoshi directed from behind him, his voice just a little too loud, and Harasawa would have shushed him were their positions reversed, but he knew that Imayoshi’s dominator, while currently pointed forward defensively, could just as easily aim at his head. 

He took the hallway to the right and he could feel the air pressure shift, like they were headed towards a large room. His instincts proved right when the hallway ended and he found himself on a catwalk overlooking the wide empty floor of the warehouse. 

The body was in the middle. From this distance it was hard to assume gender, all he could see was the blood, deep red, nearly black in the grey light filtering through the dusty skylights fifty feet above. 

Imayoshi stepped up beside him and reported their location back to dispatch. Harasawa could hear the other groups, inspectors with their enforcers, clearing the building, and when they received the all-clear he sheathed his dominator and clambered down the metal ladder leading to the floor. 

Upon closer examination it had been a young man, probably twenty five or so, and, judging by the blood and visible wounds, he was stabbed and slashed more than a dozen times. Unfortunately, it was a familiar sight.

“What a mess.” Imayoshi’s voice, cheerful, sounded from beside him. Harasawa threw him a glare but said nothing in reply. After a few seconds of silence he spoke up.

“It looks like more than one attacker, again.” 

“Why do you say that?” Imayoshi asked. Harasawa could hear the metallic whir of the forensic bots approaching. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Looks too brutal for a single person, plus we received reports that the victim only entered this warehouse fifteen minutes before we got here. If it was one person, they’re more animal than human, to kill this aggressively and that quickly, and escape the building before we entered. It’s the same MO as the last one.”

“Good.” Imayoshi replied, as if Harasawa had given him an answer he asked for, like he was reading from a textbook, or training a dog. 

The forensics arrived along with another Inspector and Imayoshi raised a hand in greeting. 

“Sorry for being late.” Sakurai called down, and Harasawa looked up towards him. He could see Wakamatsu hovering behind him, dominator still in his hand. 

“It’s no problem,” Imayoshi laughed. “We’re just on our way out, let forensics take it from here.”

 

Back at headquarters Harasawa found himself in his private room. He didn’t spend much time in the communal areas, socializing with the other enforcers hadn’t ever appealed to him. It didn’t seem like a good idea to get too close to anyone, you never knew when one of them could end up dead. He was the oldest by close to twenty years, anyway, and he doubted they’d welcome his company.

It had been eleven years since he was on the otherside of all this. He had been Lead Inspector of the first unit, the position Imayoshi held now, and almost no one was left in the department that remembered him from that time. This career rarely had a favorable outcome and peaceful retirements were few and far between. Most Inspectors were lucky to make it five years before the stress clouded their hue to dangerous levels and they were given the choice: become an Enforcer or go to prison.

Imayoshi Shouichi, Harasawa’s frequent partner, had been an Inspector for three years already, and his hue was clearer than a newborn, according to rumors. Maybe he was an exception, like Harasawa had thought _he_ was. He had made it almost ten years, solving case after case, catching criminal after criminal, before everything in his life went to hell. Office gossip insisted it was just the job, normal stress, the trauma induced by seeing death and destruction day after day, but Harasawa knew there had been more. 

After five years of marriage his wife had decided to leave him, taking their two small children with her. At the time he’d expected it, he never saw them, he spent more time sleeping at his desk than in his bed and he didn’t really miss them. When he finally went home, after nearly a month of being constantly on call, he found the house deserted and a note instructing him not to contact them. He broke down, then, and it took the department three days to find him in his drunken stupor, curled up on the bare mattress of his marriage bed, filthy and crying. 

A knock on his door startled him. 

“Yes?” He called. Truly he had no expectation of privacy, it wasn’t mandated, but he’d been afforded a certain level of respect and most people knocked if they wished to speak to him. 

“May I come in?” It was Imayoshi’s voice and Harasawa could hear his smile through the thin wood. He crossed the room and opened the door. Imayoshi’s jacket was unbuttoned and his tie was loose, he looked almost casual as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Can I help you?” 

Imayoshi ignored the question, sliding past Harasawa in the doorway without touching him. He crossed the small room and sat on the couch. Harasawa shut the door. 

“I was wondering if you had any ideas about our case this afternoon.” Imayoshi looked relaxed as he crossed his legs and leaned back into the couch. 

“I’m off duty.” He still stood by the closed door, ready and willing to open it again if Imayoshi showed the slightest interest in leaving. He didn’t. 

“Oh, I know, but I thought you might have some insight, anything for the greater good, and all that.” 

“I’m off duty.” He repeated. 

Imayoshi pushed his glasses a little higher on his nose and laughed. “Of course you are.” He made a show of not standing up, sinking even further into the couch, resting his arm along the back. Silence filled the room and Harasawa could hear the clock on the wall with its soft clicks. Twenty seconds, thirty, before Imayoshi stretched his arms over his head and stood up. 

“Well, we both have an early shift tomorrow, I suppose I should get going.” He said it as if Harasawa had asked him to stay, even invited him there in the first place. He just opened the door and stood to the side, waiting for Imayoshi to go. 

He buttoned his jacket as he crossed the room, but left the tie loose. 

“See you in the morning, Harasawa.” He walked close enough that Harasawa could feel the heat from his breath, and his fingers trailed across the front of Harasawa’s shirt. He shut the door with shaky hands. 

 

Imayoshi wasn’t there in the morning. It was a quarter past 7 and Harasawa was warming his hands on a cup of coffee he had almost no intention of drinking. Sakurai was sitting in the corner, and Wakamatsu hovered over him like a surly bodyguard. None of them spoke as they waited for their missing member.

Sakurai’s phone rang and he answered it with a soft mumble that Harasawa couldn’t hear. After a few seconds of conversation he hung up and stood. 

“We’re going to start patrol, sorry, Inspector Imayoshi will have to catch up with us when he arrives.” He announced and Harasawa nodded. Wakamatsu followed silently. 

They filed into Sakurai’s patrol car and Sakurai pulled it away from headquarters out onto the foggy, early morning streets. 

“We got a destination in mind?” Wakamatsu asked, leaning forward from the backseat to prod at the holographic display. It expanded in a map of the city, spreading across the dashboard that showed their location as well as the location of other patrol cars. Imayoshi wasn’t on the map. 

“Normal patrol route.” Sakurai answered. “And Momoi-san asked us to check out some suspicious activity in sector 5.”  
Wakamatsu sat back in his seat and Harasawa watched the fog roll as they drove  
through it. 

A few minutes passed and Sakurai’s phone rang. “Hello?” He answered. 

The silence while the person on the other end spoke felt like an eternity and Harasawa was on edge. 

“O-okay. Understood. We’ll check it out right away.” He hung up the phone without any further conversation.

“What is it?” Harasawa asked, unable to contain his curiosity. 

“Another murder. Like the rest, though they think the culprit is still inside.” 

“They thought that last time.” 

Sakurai nodded. Wakamatsu leaned forward again, resting his large hands on both front seats. “We’ll just have to be quicker this time, eh?” 

 

It wasn’t a warehouse this time, but a cluster of apartment complexes, rickety and damp with age and decay. It was too much to evacuate, to close off the streets and search room by room, so they went in quietly. 

Momoi’s voice whispered in Sakurai’s ear, indicating the direction they should go to where the victim had last been scanned. His dominator was sheathed at his side, as unimposing as possible. Neither Harasawa nor Wakamatsu were armed. They were nothing more than human shields at this point: unable to run, unable to do anything but stand in front of Sakurai if he was to be confronted. 

The walls closed in around them as they followed a long hallway, the lights flickering slightly overhead, as if they could go out any second. 

“There’s a courtyard up ahead.” Sakurai said and Harasawa nodded, following him as closely as he dared. 

In the courtyard the fog was thinner than the road, but thick enough that he could only see the faintest outline of the building on the other side. The grass was sparse, where it existed it was too tall, shaggy and overgrown, uneven beneath his feet. Sakurai led them forward, his hand on his dominator, still on his hip. 

“You’re about to step on our victim, though I don’t think you can make it any worse.” Imayoshi said, stepping out of the fog around them. Harasawa felt like he was about to have a heart attack. 

When Sakurai spoke he sounded similarly shaken. “Imayoshi-san! I-I’m sorry I didn’t see you arrive.”

Imayoshi’s laugh was quiet in response and a good part of Harasawa wanted to strangle him. What kind of Inspector shows up late to his own investigation and then makes jokes about the deceased?

“I just got here.” He said, flicking a wrist towards the middle of the courtyard. “I came in the back and found our victim here. No sign of the murderer.” 

Sakurai nodded but Harasawa followed the line pointed by Imayoshi’s hand to the obscured lump almost out of sight in front of them. He stepped forward until he could see it more clearly. 

A woman this time, judging by the hair that splayed over the ground. Her chest was sliced, similar to the last victim but it was the deep gash in her throat that had done the job, her blood soaking into the mud. 

“Is this connected?” Harasawa asked, glancing over his shoulder where the two Inspectors stood with Wakamatsu. He had meant to make a statement, to say it was surely connected, but he’d remembered his place: guarddog, expendable, human shield. He wasn’t a detective anymore. 

“We can’t be sure.” Sakurai began, but Imayoshi cut him off.

“Of course its connected. The method of kill is nearly identical, the victim was isolated, alone, and the killer got away fast, before even I could get here, and I was considerably closer than you.” 

Harasawa nodded, glancing between Sakurai and Imayoshi. The former looked cowed, shy in the face of being confronted, no matter how innocuous it had been. Imayoshi looked confident, as usual. No one doubted his words. These were all connected: this one, the last, as well as two before that. 

“You can leave this to us,” Imayoshi continued, talking to Sakurai, before he stepped forward and slung his arm over Harasawa’s shoulder. Sakurai nodded and left the courtyard, bringing Wakamatsu with him. 

Harasawa shrugged Imayoshi’s arm off his shoulder as soon as they were out of sight. He glanced at Imayoshi, to see his reaction, and he was smiling, squinting in his normal way, seemingly unaffected. 

“So, what connects this to the other murders?” Imayoshi asked, gesturing towards the victim with one hand, casual. 

“Murder weapon.” Harasawa said. “And method of murder. The location isn’t the same but it’s similar, not entirely isolated but far enough away that he could have had a few uninterrupted minutes with his victims, provided they didn’t scream.”

Imayoshi nodded. “I’m glad to work with you, Harasawa, you certainly know your stuff.” He was standing closer now, having ambled over to look over the victim’s splayed body, and Harasawa could feel the heat of him again, that unusual closeness. 

“Thank you.” He replied, uncomfortable with the compliment. Imayoshi looked over at him, expression showing something like they shared a conspiracy. He clapped a hand on Harasawa’s shoulder. 

“Let’s get out of here. We’ll cordon everything off and bring in forensics, I think our job is done.” 

Harasawa nodded. Imayoshi didn’t move his hand until he turned to leave the courtyard, walking through the still thick mist around them. 

It was strange, Harasawa thought, to look at the body of a young woman, so recently alive, and feel nothing. She looked young. She could be his daughter’s age, if she was still alive. He almost laughed at the thought, irrationally. This could _be_ his daughter for all he knows, though he doubts it. 

“Are you coming?” Imayoshi called. Harasawa couldn’t see him, but he guessed he was waiting by the courtyard doors. Sound traveled strangely in the fog, the voice could have come from anywhere. 

“Yes.” He said, just loud enough to be heard. He turned his back on the body and left the scene.


	2. But, baby, at what price?

The light from the monitor lit the room around him and all he could hear was the halting taps of his fingers across the keyboard. He flipped through article after article, report after report on this series of murders. It was the longest unsolved crime spree in recent memory, and the MWPSB were struggling to keep everything under wraps. If word of a serial killer reached public ears it would do decades worth of psyche damage, entire sectors would have heightened coefficients, especially those where the crimes had already been committed. It wouldn’t matter that no two have been in the same sector, indicating it would be unlikely for the killer to strike there again. The people, as a whole, were like animals, unruly and uncontrollable en masse. 

The most recent crime scene reports had just been submitted and Harasawa realized he would have recognized the phrasing of Imayoshi’s reports even if his name hadn’t been at the top of the page. They’d been working together for his entire three years on the force, he’d read probably hundreds of similar reports. He was always clinical in his detailing. Each crime scene described, from the weather all the way to smell. Harasawa recognized the mark of a good detective, and it really was no surprise that he had been as successful as he had. 

Harasawa clicked the link for Imayoshi’s name. He looked younger in his file photo, smiling in that way that he always does, eyes so squinted that they’re almost shut behind his glasses. He had been 18 when he joined the MWPSB. He almost laughed when he did the math. Twenty one years: as old as his partner and as long as Harasawa had been an officer. He scrolled through the personnel file, noting the cases it listed. Many were classified, inaccessible by Enforcer credentials, though he wasn’t surprised. 

It seemed like much of his basic information was missing, though. Simple things, his place of birth, even his next of kin, all missing or classified beyond Harasawa’s rank. If things were simpler, if they were equals, Harasawa might ask. As it was, it wasn’t his business, despite the tug in his chest, something leftover from his Inspector days, that told him something wasn’t right, he wouldn’t pursue this. There was nothing to pursue. He wiped his eyes, watery from staring at the screen for too long and headed to bed. He only had seven hours until his next on-call shift. 

He woke up early, as was his normal routine, brewed himself a strong cup of coffee and checked the news. Nothing about the murders had leaked yet, and he let himself breathe a soft sigh of relief. That would make their jobs easier, if only marginally. A message on his phone alerted him that someone wanted to speak with him as soon as he was on duty. 

Momoi Satsuki was the department’s eyes and ears, if any one person could be considered such. She sat in her small office, a bank of computer monitors showing security cameras all over the city, sector by sector. She had scan results on half the populace, current Inspector locations, Enforcer shift data, but the true knowledge was in her head. 

When Harasawa arrived, knocking quickly on her office door before letting himself in, he found her with her legs crossed, leaning over three different keyboards while scribbling a note onto a piece of paper. She had another pen behind her ear and a look of concentration he was afraid to interrupt. He stood stiffly by the door, letting it close behind him until the only light in the room was a small desk lamp and the glow of the wall of monitors. It took her almost a minute to put down the pen in her hand and acknowledge him. 

“Oh! Hello, Enforcer Harasawa, thanks for coming by so promptly.” She swiveled in her desk chair to face him. 

“You said you wanted to speak to me... in your message?” It wasn’t unheard of that she met with Enforcers one-on-one, she was basically one of them, after all, but Harasawa had only spoken to her on a few occasions. 

“Yes! Let me see here…” She swiveled back, facing the desk again and shuffled around a few notebooks until she found a few loose pieces of paper. “Here!” She held the loose papers towards him. 

He couldn’t really see them in the dim light, his eyesight not being what it used to be, but he could tell well enough they were crime scene reports. When he looked back up at her she nodded at him. 

“Just needs your signature. Inspector Imayoshi turned them in before you signed them.” 

He nodded and set them on the desk, finding a stray pen to sign at the bottom. 

“Are you alright, Harasawa?” Her voice was softer, as if she was concerned. Harasawa set down the pen and left the papers on the desk when he straightened up. 

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, ignoring that it was wrapping over a pen and looked at him with disconcerting focus. She did this sometimes, looked at a person as if they were a puzzle to solve, and she could solve it. From what Harasawa knew about her it was her intuition and empathy that landed her here in the first place. She wasn’t anyone’s idea of a latent criminal, but she was too perceptive to be anything else, and the MWPSB used her in a way that a recovery facility never could. 

“You seem different.” Was all she said in response, but her shrug seemed more half hearted than sincere. 

“Oh, well, I’m sorry to worry you--.” He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling a little at the sides of his shirt. 

“Have you spoken to Imayoshi about it?” She interrupted. 

“About what?” He uncrossed and recrossed his arms. 

“About whatever is bothering you.” 

“Nothing is bothering me.” He repeated, but she looked unconvinced. “Why would you think I would speak to Inspector Imayoshi?” He wasn’t sure what she thought the nature of their relationship was, but it certainly wasn’t close enough to friendship to speak about his worries, if he had any. Part of him realized if he did have worries, they would be about the man, not something he could share with him. 

“The two of you seem close.” She answered. 

Harasawa was shocked. He’d worked with the man for three years, close to sixty hours a week, and they’d been alone privately less times than he could count on one hand. “He’s my supervisor, my handler. We’re not friends.” 

“I’m good at reading people, you know. And the way you looked just then, when I mentioned him, that wasn’t a ‘he’s my supervisor’ sort of look.” 

He clenched his fists at that, tight under his armpits. “Do you read him, then?” He asked through clenched teeth. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know, and he didn’t really know why he asked, but something about the way she was looking at him had him on edge, like he was in a boxing ring with a champion fighter. He was out of his depth with her. 

“I’ve known him for a long time, but no, I can’t really read him. He’s always been different, harder for me to see what he’s thinking.” She laughed suddenly. “All this makes me sound like a psychic or something! I’m just really observant and Shouichi-san is very good at hiding his emotions.” 

Harasawa nodded in response. The silence fell around them and he shuffled his feet. Momoi seemed oblivious to any tension, or she was just better at hiding it, absentmindedly bobbing the foot of her crossed leg. 

“He probably cares about you, though.” She said, and despite the break in the tension Harasawa felt more tense than ever. What would lead her to that conclusion, he wondered, and why did it bother him so much?

He nodded again, curt and quick, a nod that said he understood, even if he didn’t agree. And he left the room without another word, returning to the bright hallway. 

He spent the day alternating between his quarters and the office with its bank of computers. It was uneventful, nothing happening that would require 1st Unit’s attention, and by seven when he was free from duty he’d read the serial killer case files backwards and forwards to the point where he could almost recite them; Imayoshi’s clinical words ran through his head. 

The thoughts carried him back to his room and into the bathroom. He discarded his clothing quickly, dropping it on the floor, and stepped beneath the water before it was even fully warm. The temperature shocked him, making him shiver. 

As the water warmed he considered the pattern of the murders so far. If they were lucky they had another 48 hours until the next murder, though it was hard to predict with only three victims. He hated that train of thought, the fact that, in all likelihood, more people would have to die in order to gather enough evidence to catch the killer. They had less than nothing, no physical evidence, no witnesses, nothing but bodies of victims, slashed and sliced and left to bleed and die. 

He rubbed shampoo into his scalp, scratching with his fingernails for a few seconds before rinsing off. The water was warm now, steam stinging his eyes. He wondered if Imayoshi had any theories, ideas about the murders that he wasn’t sharing in those clinical reports of his. He also wondered about Imayoshi himself. Where had he been that morning in the fog when he wasn’t at headquarters? Why had he visited Harasawa’s room? Why did Momoi think they were friends? And why were so many of his records sealed?

He lathered his cheeks and neck with shaving cream, careful to keep it away from the shower spray and lifted his razor. The knife, that was somewhere they should start. They didn’t know much about the murder weapon, only that it was thin and sharp. The killer never directly stabbed his victims so the length was unknown, but they could do research, examine the wounds to determine more about the weapon. Why hadn’t Imayoshi already thought about that? 

Distracted by his train of thought he almost didn’t notice when his hand slipped, bringing the razor at the wrong angle against the side of his neck. The pain was quick but sharp, where he’d sliced his skin, and a surprising amount of blood was dripping down his chest, swirling with the water and down the drain. They should follow the wounds, he decided, watching the blood dissipate as he held his fingers over the cut. Follow the wounds to the murder weapon and, hopefully, to the murderer. And he was going to bring his idea to Imayoshi as soon as possible. Maybe he could find out why the man hadn’t thought of the idea himself. Maybe he could find out more.

 

When his phone rang it was four in the morning, and there had been another murder. He dressed quickly, barely remembering to strap on both holsters, and threw his jacket over his arm. He met Wakamatsu in the lobby, there was no sign of the rest of the unit and they moved wordlessly towards the exit. It was raining again, not unusual this time of year, but the air was filled with something ominous, words hanging, left unsaid. Harasawa threw on his jacket and hunched as low in it as he could, running towards the Enforcer transport. 

“Is it alright that we’re going alone?” He asked, shutting the door behind him.

They were alone, in the back of the truck and Wakamatsu just shrugged in response. He supposed it was stress, or simply tiredness that kept him from responding. 

In the back of the truck not even the rain could be heard, and silence fell around them like a heavy weight. 

It was four thirty when they arrived at the scene, already bustling with people. The police cordon stopped them two blocks from where people had congregated the most thickly, an alley between two tall buildings. They both retrieved their Dominators and crossed the scene. The people parted for them, stopping conversations as they passed and the already ominous atmosphere heightened when they reached the victim. 

It was Sakurai.

Or, it had been. He was in his street clothes, off duty, unarmed, and his chest was sliced from shoulder to opposite hip. The blood pooled beneath his body, mixing with the rain puddles, splashing lightly with every new raindrop. A strangled cry came from Wakamatsu, the most broken sound Harasawa had ever heard. 

“Who reported it?” Harasawa asked a nearby officer, someone from unit three, if he remembered correctly. He needed to talk, to process this, if only to distract himself from the labored whimpering breathing of the tall man beside him. 

“Scanners, sir. But it took them a couple hours to notice him.” The woman replied, and Harasawa nodded. 

Wakamatsu was shaking. Harasawa knew how dangerous this job could be, but most of the danger was in your head, the human brain, too sensitive to endure the trauma, not this. Inspectors were rarely murdered, on duty or off, and to lose a partner was something else entirely.

Imayoshi approached them. He looked as if he would have shoved through the crowd, if it hadn’t already moved out of his way. Something was different about him, his face was flushed from the cold or the rain and his hair was stuck to his forehead. He looked jumpy, and somehow more alive than normal. Harasawa pondered that observation for a second, watching Imayoshi cross the wet pavement. 

“Another one.” Harasawa said. It wasn’t a question this time. It was clear that this was another one. The only difference was that the killer had gotten better at getting away, positioning the kill so that scanners would take a few hours to notice, rather than minutes. 

Imayoshi just nodded. He seemed to focus then, summoning a version of is normal casual air, even attempting to smile. He threw an arm over Harasawa’s shoulder, leaving Wakamatsu to stare at Sakurai’s body, hunched over into himself. 

Imayoshi’s arm was warm where it pressed against the back of Harasawa’s shoulders. His hand curled around pressing against the side of Harasawa’s neck. He was confused at first, by the dull pain the fingers produced, until he remembered his shaving cut and how Imayoshi’s fingers were rubbing circles over it. 

“Do you have any insight, here, Enforcer?” 

Harasawa could just see Imayoshi’s profile from the corner of his eye, and he turned his head slightly to look at him. Something caught his eye. It was a wound on Imayoshi’s neck, just where the collar of his shirt would have hidden it, were it not for their slight height difference and the closeness of the angle. It looked like scratches, and they were raw, not quite still bleeding but clearly fresh. 

“No, sir, I don’t have any insight on this.” He said, feeling Imayoshi’s fingers at his throat.


	3. Something so strange, hard to define.

It was two days later when Harasawa was notified that the second unit would take over investigations of this series of murders. He was sure Wakamatsu would be furious, but he was silent, not even comprehending the news as much as he was just struggling to stay upright and awake. Susa Yoshinori had been promoted, moving from second unit Inspector to first to oversee Wakamatsu, and he also took the news in silence, though his was composed, stern. 

Harasawa was in the office again, alone with the computers. He’d never spent so much time going over case files in his entire career but something was stumping him, leaving his intuition bereft and lost and maybe the key was somewhere in the mass of wiring in front of him. 

He knew precisely what was bothering him, and it was off duty today. The scratches on Imayoshi’s neck would be easily excusable: a violent lover, an unrelated fight, even an accident. But the feeling that something was there, something unexplainable in the set of Imayoshi’s shoulders, in the falseness of his smile that morning, in the distracting touch of his fingertips, kept bringing Harasawa’s mind back to him. 

He scrolls through the case files that he still has access to, despite it no longer being his duty. He’s read them all before, even the newest report on Sakurai’s murder, at least a dozen times. Thinking about it now, the reports never captured the full scope of the scene. There were no words for the way that Wakamatsu ended up sobbing on the ground, pants soaking at the knees, no words for the hollowness in the eyes of the other MWPSB members at the crime scene. The way in which Imayoshi writes his reports, once thought of as clinical and meticulous, now felt cold, detached in a way that he’d never realized. 

He’d been meaning to bring the idea about researching the weapon to Imayoshi that morning, but he never did. Somehow it seemed ridiculous, even less likely to work than their current non-existent line of investigation. 

He rubbed his eyes. It was only mid-morning but he’d been on the computers since dawn. He hasn’t gone back to examine Imayoshi’s file again, though the cursor hovered over his name as if by an external force more than once. It was pointless, he tried to tell himself, there was no way his gut was anywhere near right. Something had convinced him Imayoshi was involved in this, _somehow_ , but it was impossible.

Imayoshi is an Inspector, and as such his crime coefficient and hue are nearly constantly watched, monitored for any stress-related fluctuations. If he was involved with these murders he’d be caught instantly. And, if the rumors of his incredibly clear hue were anything to go by, Imayoshi should be one of the _least_ suspicious people Harasawa has ever met. 

His mind went back to the scratches, three long ragged lines against the skin of Imayoshi’s neck. If he focused, remembered just right, he could imagine reaching for the scratches, to check the spacing. In his imagination they were perfectly finger’s width apart, three fingernail scratches that would line up with Sakurai’s hands.

Imayoshi had been different that morning as well, jumpier, flushed and out of breath despite his lack of exertion. His smile felt fake, the casual sling of his arm over Harasawa’s shoulder was more hostile than friendly. Everything was hastily adding up to _something_ he just didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right, and he was scared. 

When he visited Momoi she was crying. He hadn’t seen her since their last conversation but something told him that if anyone else could see the reasons for his suspicions, if they were real and not just something in his head, it would be her. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket and beckoned him inside. 

The room was much the same as always: dark, cluttered, the glow of the monitors covering one wall. He let the door close behind him with a soft click. 

“Oh-uh, Enforcer Harasawa-- I’m sorry for,” She paused, wiping at her eyes again. 

“There’s no need to apologize, I came uninvited.” 

“I was just looking through Sakurai’s personnel file, and, well…” 

He nodded. She was hardly the only person still upset over the loss of the Inspector, and it would be callous to judge her for her emotions. He realized she wasn’t going to continue her sentence, and that she was looking at him expectantly. 

“I came to ask you a question… about the serial murders.” He began. She swiveled in her chair to give him her full attention, turning her back to the monitors. From this angle her face was mostly in shadow. She seemed to be listening so he continued. “I have this theory about figuring out more details on the murder weapon, that if we studied the wounds it could lead us to clues that may give us an idea of the killer.” 

She nodded. “Forensic analysts do much of that already. They’ve described the knife in as much detail as they were able. Surely you’ve seen the reports?” 

He nodded. He’d seen the reports but it felt like they were missing things. Every conjecture was inconclusive, everything imprecise. Surely there was more evidence to be found. 

“Was that all?” Momoi asked, crossing her legs. 

“I have a theory.” He started, and then stopped. It was true he had a notion of a theory, but it was nonsense, incomplete and certainly not anything he could say out loud. “Never mind. Do you think Forensics could look at the wounds again? Maybe with the last victim,” he avoided saying Sakurai’s name, though the ghost of it hung in the air all the same, “they could get more data. We need something to go on, even the tiniest lead could help.” 

He was grateful that she just nodded and did not acknowledge that the case it technically out of his hands, if it was ever in them. “I’ll submit the paperwork, ask permission for Forensics to do a detailed look at the wounds to determine a murder weapon description.” 

Harasawa nodded and turned to leave. “What was your theory?” Her voice stopped him, hand inches from the doorknob, and he turned back around. 

“It was nothing.” 

“I don’t believe you, Harasawa-san.” She had crossed her own arms, and looked as stern as he’d ever seen her. 

“It’s vague suspicion, no more.” He hedged.

“I’d like to hear it.” 

He stayed silent but didn’t move, and she continued. 

“You came here to tell me, so just tell me. Please?” 

She was right on that fact, though even he wasn’t certain he knew that when he’d opened her door. He wanted to tell someone, he wanted someone to confirm, or deny, or just acknowledge the thoughts that floated around his mind. She was the only one he thought of, no one else would hear them. 

“I believe that someone within the MWPSB has been…. complicit in these murders.” That was the most vague yet concise way he could manage to say it. No names, no implication that they were the murderer themselves. She saw through it immediately. 

“You think… Imayoshi?” 

His stunned silence was more than enough of an answer for her. 

“I’ve seen his scans. He’s clear! One of the lowest crime coefficients on record. He couldn’t be complicit in anything criminal. There’s no way.” 

“You’re right, Momoi-san, you’re right. I didn’t say it was him. It isn’t him.” He lied. He wanted her to see, wanted her to understand the curling confusion in his gut that produced these suspicions. 

“You didn’t say it was him but you believe it, don’t you?” 

“No.” 

She didn’t argue, though from what he could see on her face she didn’t believe him. 

“This is dangerous speculation, Enforcer. This could get you hurt.” 

He knew she was right, and he left without sparing her a goodbye. He knew she was right and he knew he was lost but he couldn’t stop himself now. 

 

He sent a message to Imayoshi, asking him to meet in his quarters. If he was surprised to get the invitation, the first of its kind, he didn't show it in his quick reply. Harasawa spent the intervening time pacing, then cleaning his pistol, then pacing again. 

Imayoshi knocked once and opened the door before Harasawa could even cross the room. He was dressed casually, a t-shirt, the sort of sweatshirt that zipped up the front, and jeans. He smiled when he saw how alarmed Harasawa looked, like it had been his plan. 

“Nice to see you, Harasawa.” He greeted, standing with his hands in his pockets in front of the, now closed, door. 

Harasawa didn’t respond, and remained standing while Imayoshi wandered the room as if he were appraising it. 

“So,” Imayoshi said, lifting a generic knickknack from a side table and turning it in his hands. “you invited me here, I’m guessing you had something you wanted to say?”

He replaced the item and sat down on the couch, groaning slightly as if he’d had a long day and was settling in. Harasawa was still watching him and he hadn’t moved from where he stood by his table, just following Imayoshi with his eyes. 

“I’m going to think you had dubious intentions if you don’t say something soon.” He was smiling, and pushed his glasses up further on his face. 

Harasawa could just see the scratches, standing out as raised red welts above the neck of his shirt. Imayoshi stood up again, stretching his arms over his head. Harasawa still didn’t know what to say, just that he had to say _something_ , and soon, before Imayoshi left. 

He cleared his throat and Imayoshi looked at him expectantly. A series of images flashed through his head, everything that had been telling him to dig deeper, look further: opportune absences, an unusual amount of knowledge that somehow never added up to any further investigations, his strangely empty personnel file, and that scratch. It was nothing, not even circumstantial but it was there, digging into a place in his brain and it wouldn’t leave him alone until he pursued it. 

His legs moved before his brain formed the words, and he found himself standing in front of Imayoshi. He didn’t look surprised, though Harasawa himself _was_ , and he didn’t pull away when Harasawa lifted his hand, pressing his fingers to the scratches on the side of Imayoshi’s neck. The comprehension in Imayoshi’s eyes was only momentary before he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. 

Harasawa wished that he would have froze. It would have been expected, he should have been shocked, but something felt right. He pressed back, winding his hand around the side of Imayoshi’s neck and holding him close. He thought he was the first to open his mouth, to deepen the kiss, to sink into the hard press of Imayoshi’s lips. His neck arched down as he pulled Imayoshi to meet him, their heights not inconvenient but something about the way they fit was familiar and comforting. 

When Imayoshi pulled away, Harasawa’s hand still firm around his neck, he smiled up at him. He ran the back of his fingers against Harasawa’s cheekbone, incredibly gentle and Harasawa was shattered. 

“You wanted to talk to me?” He asked, quietly. 

Harasawa shook his head. The words were gone, if they were ever there. 

Imayoshi left without another word.

 

Three hours later found Harasawa, alone in bed and still dazed. The suspicions were still there, deep rooted but they were overshadowed now by the taste of Imayoshi’s mouth, the feel of his lips, how his hand was warm on Harasawa’s cheek. Imayoshi felt real in a way he never had before, human and a man and so magnetic Harasawa wasn’t sure he’d be able to escape the pull.


	4. Convince them, and get them

It wasn’t raining, but the overcast sky felt oppressive, as if it meant to crush the city beneath and him with it. They were driving over familiar roads but everything felt different than it had previously, like he was looking through new eyes, like he was awake after only dreaming of this place. He sat in the passenger seat and, though Imayoshi was driving, he felt as if he was being watched. 

“Where are we going?” He asked curling a piece of hair around his finger. 

“You’ll see.” Imayoshi replied, not taking his eyes off the road. Harasawa watched his fingers on the steering wheel, how they gripped the worn leather. At some point he knew he would have to sort everything out, shine light on the enigma that was Imayoshi Shouichi, but it felt so much easier to revel in the sweet memory of his mouth, to think about what those hands could do to him at any time. 

Imayoshi made a sharp turn, taking them off the highway onto a series of smaller streets. They were near the warehouse where the second murder happened, and Harasawa suddenly knew that was their intended destination. 

“Why are we going to the old crime scene?” 

Imayoshi laughed. “Knew you’d catch on.” He didn’t seem like he was going to answer the actual question, and they were silent until the car pulled up to the curb outside the warehouse. 

It looked different in the morning daylight, less ominous and more broken, more than half of the high windows were cracked or missing completely, the large sliding door hung off its track and the concrete in front of it was full of potholes. It felt lonely. The MWPSB had released the crime scene and it was no longer restricted, but Harasawa had no doubt the building was still empty. 

Harasawa wanted to ask, again, why they were here, but he knew it was more than likely Imayoshi would ignore him. They got out of the car and the wind was cold on his uncovered neck and face. 

“I wanted your sharp eyes.” Imayoshi said, as if he’d pulled the question that had been sitting in Harasawa’s mind. It sounded like nonsense, without any context, but Harasawa just shrugged a little.

“Not as sharp as they used to be.” He replied, following Imayoshi into the building. 

Imayoshi laughed and Harasawa wished he could see his face, to gauge how sincere it was. “I’m the one who wears glasses, you know.” 

Harasawa let himself smile at that but didn’t reply as they stepped into the swallowing darkness of a long hallway. 

When they emerged on the catwalk, rickety railings overlooking the wide cement floor, Harasawa felt an edge to the air. It felt like walking into a trap, or running near the edge of a cliff in the middle of the night. Imayoshi was in front of him, spinning around quickly and scaling down the metal ladder to the floor. 

The body was gone, of course, and all traces of MWPSB presence, but at least a shadow of the blood remained. It was a red-black staining on the concrete that the owners of the building would be responsible for, if they cared. It spread out like a snow angel, macabre wings stretched as if in flight. Harasawa watched as Imayoshi crossed to the middle of the room and placed his hands on his hips. 

“Are you coming?” Imayoshi called, loud enough that it echoed, without turning to face Harasawa. 

He climbed down. He was unusually conscious of the dull click of his shoes on the floor, the way the sound emerged and then immediately stopped, as if muffled by the air itself. The sound didn’t ring the way Imayoshi’s voice had.

"Come over here." Imayoshi said. He still hadn't turned, but his voice was softer after hearing Harasawa's approach.

Harasawa stepped up beside him and stared down at the blood stain, all the remained of it. Somehow it looked more abstract from up close, less like a mark of death and more like a work of art.

"What are you thinking?" Imayoshi asked, and Harasawa realized he was watching his face instead of watching the floor.

"Nothing." Harasawa replied, still staring at the floor, afraid to meet Imayoshi's eyes.

"I didn't bring you here so you could think nothing." He countered. "Walk me through it, with our working theories."

Harasawa took a deep breath and imagined the victim. He was standing in the warehouse, surrounded by at least three attackers. "Multiple assailants, each with a blade, surrounding the victim."

Imayoshi nodded but said nothing.

"How did they strike? How quickly?" He prodded.

"Fast. Dangerously fast, truly. The victim was probably on the ground in seconds, sporting at least three major wounds."

"And the assailants? The murderers? Where did they go, how did they escape?" Imayoshi stepped around the bloodstain, as if it was still like to stain his shoes, crossing until he was across from where Harasawa stood.

"They probably split up, easier to not get caught. This building is large, drafty, lots of corners to hide in." Harasawa's breath was shaky when he inhaled. "They could have still been here when MWPSB arrived. It's possible."

"It's possible. But I don't think it likely." Imayoshi's sudden input surprised Harasawa. It was clear he had theories of his own, but he had seemed content to hear Harasawa parrot the existing reports back to him. He was intrigued, and looked across at Imayoshi, wanting to hear more.

When Harasawa didn't reply Imayoshi seemed to take the hint and smiled just slightly before continuing. "What if it was only one attacker?"

Harasawa closed his mouth, realizing it had dropped open, but didn't reply. Imayoshi took a step, to the side, not into the stain, and began pacing. "One attacker could move faster than a group, they could get in and out without easily being detected."

He was moving his hands as he talked, more animated than Harasawa was used to seeing him and his eyes were locked to Imayoshi's hands, moving through the stale air. He continued talking, not waiting for Harasawa to offer commentary even if he had wanted to.

"A single attacker, a single blade, in and out and gone into the night without a trace."

"But how could he do it?" Harasawa countered. The reason they'd suspected multiple attackers from the beginning was the quickness and brutality of the kills, the sheer strength and reflexes it would require for a single person to commit these murders himself was astronomical.

Imayoshi stopped at the sound of his words, and his eyes lit up as if he only just remembered Harasawa was there. He crossed the space between them in three strides, heedless of the stain until his index finger was pressed to Harasawa's ribs like a knife.

"Like this." Imayoshi replied, his words barely above a whisper and he leaned closer. He slid his finger across Harasawa's ribs over his jacket, demonstrating the first wound. Then moved, dodging quickly to the right where he stabbed out again. Harasawa felt the pressure of his finger against his lower back, slicing across his spine. Imayoshi moved again, continuing his circle around Harasawa's still frame but this time brought the finger to his neck, sliding it along bare skin just rough enough that his fingernail snagged and scratched.

"Three wounds before they fall, and I could move faster." His voice was quiet, and he was close enough that his breath was warm against Harasawa's neck. His finger hadn't moved once it completed its cut and his hand hovered somewhere above Harasawa's collarbone.

He knew it was true, that Imayoshi could move faster if he had tried, and it scared him. Part of him wondered why forensics and the other investigators said that it was unlikely one person could commit these murders.

Neither one of them moved until Imayoshi's finger trailed along the side of his neck, allowing him to cup his hand around and stroke Harasawa's jaw with his thumb. He lifted his other hand and pressed down hard on both of Harasawa’s shoulders, bringing him to his knees in a graceless fall. 

His eyes were even with the buttons of Imayoshi’s white shirt, and he stared at their pearly sheen. He was scared to look up, to see how Imayoshi looked at him on his knees. Imayoshi’s hands moved from his shoulders to the sides of his neck before wrapping around and squeezing gently, stroking just above his adam’s apple with both thumbs. . 

“And then they’re as good as dead.” His voice was cold, falling to Harasawa’s ears with the weight of all the suspicion he’d been gathering for days. Harasawa could feel nothing aside from Imayoshi’s hands on his throat. 

A few seconds passed in silence before Imayoshi let go, dropping his hands and walking away, dodging the bloodstain with practiced steps. Harasawa crumbled, sinking until he sat upon his heels and his chin hit his chest. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. 

Imayoshi was unfazed: both business-like and casual, with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, facing away from Harasawa’s slumped figure. He didn’t look as if he’d just demonstrated how to kill a man, and Harasawa wished he didn’t notice the way the fabric of his slacks stretched taut across his ass, or the wide stance of his legs. 

"Do you think we should pursue other avenues of investigation?" Imayoshi asked, once again speaking to the room at large, as if Harasawa was simply an observer, a piece of furniture in an otherwise empty room. 

He cleared his throat and got to his feet before answering, ignoring the painful twinge in his knees. 

“I think it’s worth investigating.” He said. 

Imayoshi turned and Harasawa saw how his eyes flowed over his body, catching, first, at the dirt on his knees, second at his chest where a button of his shirt had come loose. 

“We’d better get back to headquarters. We’ve both got other duties, I’m sure, and it’s not as if this is our case any longer anyways.” 

Harasawa nodded and turned away, climbing the narrow ladder before Imayoshi could follow him. 

He chose a different hallway, one lit by the occasional bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, that led towards the front of the warehouse. He didn’t feel like venturing first into the dark, not with Imayoshi at his back. He went more than twenty feet before he stopped. Imayoshi’s footsteps had mirrored his, heels clicking in the silence, but it was the otherworldly heat of his gaze that stopped Harasawa. He wasn’t sure how he knew Imayoshi was watching him, only that it was. He knew that if he stopped Imayoshi would continue moving, and he wasn’t surprised to feel his hands on his shoulders. 

Harasawa stood still, staring forward into dwindling light, while Imayoshi’s fingers trailed against the back collar of his shirt. He tugged at it, just enough to bare the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck and pressed his lips against it. He held his lips there then moved, kissing softly in short pecks. His hands moved back over Harasawa’s shoulders taking his jacket with them and he didn’t protest as it fell past his own hands and hit the floor. 

He didn’t move as Imayoshi reached around to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. His lips were still against the nape of his neck and everything moved slowly. If he closed his eyes he may very well forget it was real. Imayoshi’s hand caught on the edge of his shoulder holster at first, unable to unbuckle it, but Harasawa didn’t assist. It took him only a few more seconds before he lowered both holster and belt to the ground. The fabric of his shirt parted and fall from his shoulders as well. The Dominator was still holstered at his hip. He should have been cold at the sudden nakedness but Imayoshi’s hands were on him, seemingly everywhere, never ceasing in their movements as his lips kissed a line down his back. 

Imayoshi’s lips reached the bottom of his spine and his fingertips pressed against his hipbones when Harasawa found his voice.

“Stop.” 

Imayoshi stopped, pulling his hands away from the skin but keeping them close. He stood up and Harasawa could feel him breathing against his shoulder. Harasawa spun within Imayoshi’s arms and faced him. 

“Did you-” He started. Imayoshi rested his hands against Harasawa’s hips. 

“Do you suspect _me_ , Katsunori?” 

Harasawa shivered at the use of his given name, so casually used as if they were close friends. He didn’t answer. 

“You can check _now_ , you know?” Imayoshi stepped back and where his hands had been felt cold. “Just point your Dominator at me. Go ahead, I give you permission.” He stepped back a few more steps opening his arms wide, level with his shoulders as if martyred on a cross. 

Harasawa pulled the Dominator from his holster. His hands were shaking much more than they should as he heard its familiar voice in his ear, welcoming an authorized user. He pointed it at the ground. 

“Wow,” Imayoshi remarked. “You seem scared. Do I frighten you?” 

He couldn’t help the tremble even as he held the weapon at arm’s length, aiming it at Imayoshi’s chest. 

_Crime Coefficient: 27.6, Trigger locked._ The voice spoke in his head, and he dropped his arms suddenly, as if the weight was too much to bear. 

“You see? Nothing to worry about.” The smile on his face was mocking, and Harasawa wanted it gone. 

He crossed the space between them, dropping his Dominator with no concern for its safety, grabbed both sides of Imayoshi’s face and kissed him hard on the mouth. It was different from the kiss in his room in the way a match is different than a forest fire. 

They kissed as if they couldn’t breathe, trailing lips and tongues down each other’s necks, hands sliding across chest and back alike. Harasawa’s hands fumbled with the belt around Imayoshi’s waist for a few seconds, before prizing it open and yanking it free. He unbuttoned the pants quickly, not taking his mouth from Imayoshi’s neck until he slid the fingers of both hands beneath the waistband and fell to his knees. 

He brought Imayoshi’s pants and underwear with him, wiggling them over narrow hips until they sat somewhere around his knees and Harasawa swallowed down Imayoshi’s cock. 

He was quick, dirty, eager to taste everything he could. He wanted Imayoshi to beg, he wanted him to scream. His hands were on his shoulders, fingertips just touching while Harasawa worked his mouth. He hardly noticed how Imayoshi’s hands moved, first sliding together, and then, with a slight bend where Imayoshi hunched over him, wrapping around his neck. 

He felt the pressure against his throat from both sides, squeezing his windpipe even as he took Imayoshi’s cock as deep as it could go. He thought he couldn’t breathe, and he squirmed, choking and inhaling at irregular intervals. He kept moving in as steady of a rhythm as he could manage, working one hand, slick with spit against the base while his tongue licked at the head. 

The spots that filled his vision meant he wasn’t getting enough oxygen, but something in him couldn’t bring himself to care. Imayoshi’s hips were twitching, and Harasawa could hear how ragged his breathing was, occasionally interspersed with quiet moans and he wanted _more_ , he wanted everything. Imayoshi’s fingers loosened just as Harasawa felt himself lose consciousness, and he pulled away to breathe, deep and shaky as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. The break didn’t last long and Harasawa immediately went back, sucking at the tip, licking at the underside, his hand reaching under to fondle his balls. Imayoshi didn’t stop either, his fingers tightened again until Harasawa could feel his life pounding in his head, his heartbeat frantic, pulse erratic against Imayoshi’s thumb. 

It all repeated: Harasawa moving his mouth until Imayoshi’s moans were loud and long, Imayoshi’s fingers squeezing until Harasawa couldn’t breathe and felt his already weak knees collapsing. 

Imayoshi climaxed with a groan that could have finished Harasawa as well, if he’d had the mind to touch himself. His hips bucked up, fucking Harasawa’s mouth until he yanked his head back and spit on the pavement below. 

Imayoshi pulled up his pants and gently helped Harasawa to his feet. He made no moves to reciprocate, only ran the back of his index finger over the already forming bruises on Harasawa’s neck. He kissed him then, first on the mouth, and then both sides of the neck, as if to soothe the wounds he’d created. 

“Let’s get back to work, shall we?” He said, and, despite everything, Harasawa didn’t object.


	5. If you're going crazy just grab me

Harasawa hit delete again. He deleted every file he had bookmarked, a trail of half-hearted ideas strewn through the hard drive of his computer that could possibly lead someone else to the conclusion sitting in his brain: Imayoshi was a murderer. The clues were there, if anyone tried hard to find them. 

He had been trying to convincing himself as he tugged at the high neckline of his shirt. The shirt was old, nothing he'd worn in years, but it was the only thing he owned that hid the marks. He laid in bed the night before for more than an hour telling himself that everything his mind said wasn't true. Imayoshi couldn't have killed anyone, couldn't have even _thought_ about it, if his crime coefficient could be trusted. Sibyl had to be trustworthy, if nothing else in the world was true at least that was. It hadn't worked. When he finally drifted off to sleep he dreamed of dilapidated buildings, water damage and Imayoshi's fingers around his neck. He'd spent the day trying to forget those dreams and desperately trying to remember them until the evening found him in the office, tapping away at the computer in front of him.

He deleted the last of the files, emptying the cache and covering his tracks the best that he could. He wasn't an expert with computers, not anything near one, but he knew he couldn't ask Momoi or anyone else for their help. He wasn't even sure what he was doing at this point, only that if, somehow, something that he'd pieced together could be used to implicate Imayoshi, he wanted to stop it.

The door creaked open and Susa stood in the doorway. Harasawa glanced up at him and nodded.

"Hello, Inspector."

"Enforcer." He greeted, stepping further into the room and across to a computer of his own. Susa ran his hand through his short hair in what looked to be a gesture of stress or frustration. 

Harasawa was tempted to ask, to find out what was bothering the newly promoted Inspector, but he held back. He didn't know the man, they'd never even been formally introduced, but he was part of the team now.

Harasawa gathered his things and left the room, sparing Susa another nod before letting the door shut behind him. 

The air in his room was cold, dry and scraping in his throat. He didn't have the energy to do much aside from yank off his clothes and collapse into bed. Every part of him was sore, none more so than his neck and aching knees. He turned off the light by his bed, plunging himself into darkness. 

Before he could even close his eyes the image of Imayoshi was there. He remembered everything, all the sensations he'd been trying to suppress throughout the day hit him with the force of a natural disaster, ripping him from his foundations.

He could almost feel Imayoshi's hands, taste him on his tongue. He remembered the pressure, how it felt when his throat constricted around Imayoshi's cock. He remembered choking, being terrified, not being able to breathe, and feeling more alive than he'd been in decades. Something about him craved that feeling. He knew he shouldn't want more, he shouldn't want Imayoshi there with him, in his bed, kissing his neck. He shouldn't want his mocking smiles, his hearty laughter, none of it was good.

A decade, he thought, or more, since he last felt alive- almost as long since he last saw his children. He remembered them now as smudges of color, hair falling in their faces, small hands, small clothes. He couldn't even remember their faces. When his wife left him he hadn't been able to say goodbye, but part of him never regretted that. It felt easier to let go of that part of his life, to just forget them the way they surely forgot him. He wondered if they thought he was dead, wherever they were now. He wondered if he wanted them to. 

His head was a war of logic and lust, sensations battling the knowledge that Imayoshi was dangerous, could kill him as easily as he'd demonstrated the day before. There was not a part of him that thought Imayoshi _wouldn't_ kill him, he didn't feel safe, he didn't feel special, but he still wanted more from him. His imagination ran wild and his hand slid down his chest and into his underwear. Everything felt wrong, the type of wrong he wanted to live in like a cocoon, surrounded and segregated from the outside world until he changed enough to be revealed, until he reached his true form.

He found himself harder than he realized, and his hands stuck, dry as they slid across slightly sweaty skin. His other arm fumbled for the nightstand, finding the seldom used lube in the drawer. He put a little in his hand, just enough to slide freely, and whimpered when he touched himself again. It felt better, smoother, and he imagined it was Imayoshi's hand. The fantasy was weak, an image tempered by what he remembered of Imayoshi’s skin, but he had never touched his cock. They had just driven home, the day before, Harasawa painfully hard and unwilling to touch himself, and Imayoshi just smirked at him, knowing it was his fault.

He remembered the fear, when Imayoshi had approached him and pressed his finger against his ribs like a knife. The idea that it was Imayoshi that he had been alone with, that he wanted _desperately_ to be alone with again, scared him more than anything else.

He thought of the moment when the black spots had covered his vision and his throat was spasming for lack of oxygen. Part of him was certain he was going to die in that moment, and part of him wanted it. He got harder at the thought and the feeling of his own hand stroking steadily. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough.

He felt his muscles clenching, tightening and he knew he was close. The lack of control in his hands mirroring his memory of helplessness beneath Imayoshi’s. He didn’t know if he would live or die, only Imayoshi could decide that, and he’d gone to his knees, willingly and eagerly, and he was sure he would do it again. He knew he should stop, not make a mess out of his sheets but he was gone, eyes rolling and hips bucking up into his hand. He finished with a long groan, louder than Imayoshi had been the day before, and his hand was sticky. He fell asleep before he could think about cleaning up, disgusting and exhausted and not nearly satisfied.

The next day, after washing his sheets and spending close to an hour in the shower, he received a message from Momoi. It was his off-duty day, a day which he had planned to spend alone in a desperate attempt to distract himself, but he had accepted her invitation. 

He wore the same shirt as the day before, not having any other clothing that covered the bruises. They were beginning to yellow, but still very visible against his neck. Part of him wondered why he hid them, surely no one would say anything to him directly, but what little dignity he still had he planned to keep intact.

He knocked on Momoi's office door and she answered before the second rapp of his knuckles. He was surprised, and his hand hung in the air a few seconds longer while she stared at him.

"You came!" She said, sounding surprised.

He dropped his hand, sticking both into the pockets of his pants and nodding. She seemed to be waiting for a response, not moving from the doorway. "I did." He replied simply, thinking his presence was enough to prove the statement.

She seemed to realize the problem, and her eyes widened when she backed away, gesturing for him to come inside.

When the door had shut behind him and they'd both taken seats, her in her swivel desk chair, him in a small cushioned armchair that was normally covered in papers, she spoke.

"How have you been?" She asked.

"Fine." He answered. She immediately looked frustrated, crossing her arms across her chest and staring at him in a way that suggested she knew better. She didn't answer back, and he knew he was being silently reprimanded. "I'm fine." He repeated, unconvincingly.

"You seem different, and it's not a good different. Are you _sure_ you're fine?" She sounded gentler than her expression showed and he found himself feeling slightly more at ease as he sunk back into the chair.

"Why do you ask?" 

It was obvious she knew he was dodging the question, but she answered. "You seem unfocused, like you can't control your emotions. I noticed your hands shaking yesterday."

It sounded like she had more examples, and Harasawa realized he couldn't refute any of them. He felt like an exposed wire, ready to shock anything or anyone who came in contact with him, nerves flaring. He just nodded.

She shuffled some papers on her desk, digging until she found a particular one she was looking for, and leaned forward in her chair until she could hand it to him. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and she seemed to notice. She flicked on a ceiling light that he hadn’t known was there and when he saw what the paper was he almost dropped it on reflex. 

The top of the page read _Supervisory Inquiries_ and the list of information below seemed to be every time Imayoshi had been under scrutiny. It felt like fire in his hands, but he didn’t know if he should drop it or clutch it to his chest. Other people had been suspicious of him, _lots_ of people, from the looks of it. 

None of the inquiries had gone beyond the chief, he saw. Each one ended in a rather vague _Verbal Warning_ , and then had been dismissed. He handed the paper back to Momoi and she looked confused. 

“I don’t need this.” He said. 

“Do you trust him, all of a sudden?” Her eyes were wide, and she still held the paper in her hand. “He’s been my friend for years and I’m not sure that _I_ trust him.” 

“Of course I don’t trust him.” Harasawa said, and it was at least partially true. 

“Then why?” She replied, lifting the paper in question. 

“I don’t know.” 

He wondered if she had anything else to say. She had probably gone through considerable trouble to get her hand on those inquiries, possibly even at a danger to herself, and he wanted to thank her but the words stuck in his throat. He stood, bowing his head slightly towards her, mumbled a quick goodbye, and left. 

Throughout his normal duties he couldn’t help but notice the things Momoi had mentioned. His hands were shaky. His emotions were not the cold mask he was used to, the cloud of numbness he’d been living in had been blown away, leaving him nothing but his base reactions. 

He wasn’t ever alone with Imayoshi, and he didn’t know if he was more grateful or frustrated. Would Imayoshi touch him again? Would he get close enough that Harasawa could run his hands across his chest, down his arms? He spent more time with Inspector Susa, though they didn’t talk. He felt as if Susa was watching him, keeping a wary eye on his behavior and he just hoped he wasn’t too obvious where his thoughts lie. 

There had been no word of further murders, and as a few days passed, the pattern of escalation seemed broken. The second unit was a mixture of confusion and relief, both having too little data to investigate as well as no more victims to mourn. No one since Sakurai, and Harasawa wondered if that was what it had all been building up to, the death of an Inspector. 

“I don’t like him.” Wakamatsu grumbled, the back of the transport was dark as they were driven to the next scene. It was the first time Wakamatsu had tried to speak to him since Sakurai’s death. He’d been quiet, seeming like he was on the edge of a break, ever since. No one dared to reprimand him, to suggest he take a leave. He was wild, and the look in his eyes, the set of his shoulder, was too close to a caged animal for comfort. 

“Don’t like who?” Harasawa asked, as softly as he could manage while still being hurt over the slight road noise. He wondered if Wakamatsu meant Susa, his new primary partner. 

“Imayoshi.” He replied and Harasawa’s eyes widened. Wakamatsu seemed content to leave it at that, leaning his head against the metal wall of the truck and closing his eyes. 

“Why?” 

He opened one eye, looking at Harasawa. His expression was unreadable as he shrugged his shoulders and sat up again. “I just don’t. He didn’t even come to Sakurai’s funeral… Whoever did that shit to him is one sick fuck, he didn’t deserve that kinda death. I’ll kill the fucker myself, with my bare hands if I have to.” 

The abrupt change of topic startled Harasawa and he found himself imagining Imayoshi’s demonstration, the way he’d moved, and he imagined Sakurai in his own place, the Inspector being sliced open, falling to his knees. In that moment he had no doubt: Imayoshi was guilty.

 

At the end of the day he opened the door to his room and he wasn’t alone. Imayoshi was spread out on his couch, hands behind his head, looking as if he’d practiced being casual in front of a mirror. He was still in his uniform, jacket off and thrown over the edge of the couch. Harasawa stopped in the doorway, somehow afraid to enter his own room. 

“Why are you here?” He asked. 

Imayoshi stretched his arms over his head and brought them down to his lap. “Because I want to be.”

Harasawa stepped forward, letting the door close behind him. He wanted to turn around, to walk out, to yell at Imayoshi until he stopped evading questions or left. He stood by his small dining table instead, anchoring himself with one hand. 

“Why do you want to be?” His voice was shakier than he wished it would be, nervous. 

Imayoshi laughed, throwing his head back until Harasawa was afraid he’d hit the wall, “You want me here, too.” 

He swallowed, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. He couldn’t deny the incredible truth of that statement. He felt it in his bones, the aching want for the man in front of him. 

Imayoshi must have been able to see it on his face, because he stood up and crossed the room to Harasawa’s bed. Without hesitation he opened the nightstand drawer and tossed something to Harasawa. He caught it, barely, in his shaking fingers: his small bottle of lube. He looked up at Imayoshi with wide eyes. 

Imayoshi laughed again and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. “Are you coming, or what?” 

Harasawa nodded and crossed the room.


	6. Anywhere, anywhere

He couldn’t breathe and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. Imayoshi’s hair was hanging in front of his face where he hovered over him, leveraging himself by the grip of both hands on Harasawa’s neck. Imayoshi moved quickly, sliding up and then slamming himself back down onto his cock. Harasawa couldn’t move while Imayoshi rode him, couldn’t focus on anything but the sensations. His eyes were half closed and his hands alternated between fisting in the sheets on either side of him and digging his nails into Imayoshi’s thighs. He watched Imayoshi’s face, he looked different without his glasses, younger in a way that was almost disturbing. 

“You like it?” Imayoshi said, somewhere near his ear and he realized Imayoshi had bent down, thrusting at a different angle into himself and their chests were almost touching. His hands weren’t moving except to loosen his grip occasionally, allowing Harasawa a shaky breath or two. “Do you like it, Harasawa?” He asked again. 

Harasawa nodded as much as he could when he finally comprehended the question, letting his eyes roll back as he sunk into the feeling of pressure and warmth on his skin. He could feel his orgasm building, rising with every movement of Imayoshi’s body and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

Imayoshi’s fingers were tight and Harasawa felt the pounding of his heartbeat in his head. When he opened his eyes again he couldn’t see much more than the silhouette above him. He didn’t have to try to forget who it was, who the warm body around him was, he could be anyone, he could be innocent, a stranger, his ex-wife. 

His eyes opened again and he didn’t remember closing them, only realizing that he’d lost consciousness by the rasp of air through his throat, breathing like he’d only just broken the surface after nearly drowning. Imayoshi was still there, though in a different position and his mouth was just under Harasawa’s ear, kissing down the side of his throat. 

He didn’t apologize with his words. Harasawa tried to imagine the light touch of his fingertips, his wrist where it brushed Harasawa’s chest, his lips where they pressed softly to the blooming bruises on his neck spoke of regret, of a tenderness he’d never say. 

“Let me finish you off.” Imayoshi said and he moved until he knelt between Harasawa’s legs. He hadn’t even realized he was still aroused. 

He closed his eyes again and tried to forget everything he thought he knew. 

 

Harasawa woke up, sore, bruised and alone. He felt his breath shaking in his throat and he wondered briefly if Imayoshi had actually done some damage. The laugh that escaped his mouth hurt, but once he began laughing he couldn’t stop. _Of course_ Imayoshi had done some damage, of course he had, it may as well be physical this time. The bed beside him isn’t warm, though they’d spent most of the night together on these sheets. Did Imayoshi sleep at all, he wondered, or did he sneak out as soon as Harasawa closed his eyes for the last time?

Harasawa dressed for work in a daze. He dug through his drawers searching for anything that would hide the bruising and settled on a scarf so old he hadn't remembered that he even owned it. The dark blue fabric was thin and smelled vaguely of mildew but he wrapped it dutifully around his neck and pulled on his jacket. He double checked his holsters, one empty without the Dominator, the other snug against his chest with his pistol and headed downstairs to the on-duty floors.

Wakamatsu leaned against the far wall of the room when he entered and didn't bother to look up. They stood in silence, across the room from each other while Enforcers from other units chatted at the tables in between. Something about the day didn't feel like it should be filled with idle chatter, though Harasawa wasn't much for small talk on his best days. He tuned out their words, instead he focused on the pattern in the carpet, tried to hear the fluorescent lights buzz instead of his coworkers' words.

Most of the day passed in a similar fashion, he got up briefly to find lunch, he nodded to Momoi when he passed her in the hall, trying not to focus where her eyes went to his scarf. He felt as if he was waiting for something more than just an assignment. The air was tense with possibilities and none of them were friendly to Harasawa's skin.

When Susa entered, the late evening having passed into night, he silently beckoned Wakamatsu and Harasawa towards him with one hand. Harasawa let out a sigh of relief. He needed to keep his mind busy, or he'd think things he didn't want to think, and having an assignment was a sure-fire way to do that. He was grateful it was Imayoshi's day off, he hadn't seen him since before he slept.

They left, traveling again by car instead of transport, this time with Harasawa in the backseat. Wakamatsu hunched over, looking too large for the car, and Harasawa could see the hollow look in his eyes through the sideview mirror.

"Suspicious activity reported in sector 3." Susa said by way of explanation. He didn't drive the way Imayoshi preferred to, Harasawa noted, Susa sat back in his seat and watched their progress on the holographic map that hovered over the dashboard while the car drove itself instead. "Seems to be just here," he pointed to a residential area of the sector. 

It was a nicer neighborhood, homes separated by yards large enough to host parties in, its own school surrounded by playgrounds and parks. It was the type of place Harasawa would have liked to raise a family, if that had ever been his dream.

When they arrived the neighborhood was quiet. After dark places like this felt more like ghost towns, the shadows of their suburban lives sliding eerie against walls by the yellow glow of streetlights. They drove to the block where the suspicious person had been reported and parked the car against the curb. They were near the school, the playground looking abandoned and forlorn across the dark field.

"Stick with me, we'll do a sweep." Susa said. He opened the trunk of the car and handed Dominators out, first to Wakamatsu, then Harasawa. The approval message rang in his ears.

They followed Susa, two silent shadows in the night, as he walked through the neighborhood. They saw no sign of anyone, not even a cat, and Harasawa began to wonder if the call had been a joke, or a paranoid citizen imagining things. All the houses were dark, the only light came from the streetlights. 

Harasawa heard footsteps behind them, from someone running, and turned with Dominator aimed and poised.

"Stop!" He called and the figure froze with hands upstretched.

"Officers..." He panted, seemingly out of breath from running to catch up to them. "I was the one who called you."

Harasawa lowered his Dominator as Susa stepped forward and the man continued. 

“I saw this suspicious guy, right? He was wearing all black, walking the streets, and people around here don’t walk at night,” Susa nodded in response, “and now I can’t find my friend.” 

“Your friend?” Susa’s voice was soft but business-like in his response.

The man nodded frantically. “He was headed home from my house and then I called to check and his mom said he never made it.” Harasawa looked sharply at that, and realized the person was probably a teenager, hardly more than a child, and that his friend would be too. 

Susa nodded again. “What does your friend look like?” 

He described his friend in as much detail as he could, with slightly too much emotional attachment. Harasawa could hear his voice hitching as he struggled to control the worry that washed over him. He knew the boy’s hue was getting cloudier by the moment, and they had to convince him not to worry himself soon.

Susa put a reassuring hand on his shoulder when he was finished speaking.

“Go home now, we’ll take care of this.” He said, and he nodded before turning away and running towards one of the dark houses behind them.

"Let's split up." Susa said and Wakamatsu nodded. "We all know what we're looking for now, and we haven't seen anything so far. I'm betting this kid ran off to another friend's house or something and we'll turn up empty, but we have to check. Meet back at the car at forty five after, we'll regroup and see if there's anything else we need to do."

Harasawa was hesitant, the air of suspicion still weighed heavy on him but he listened. He pulled out his Dominator and held it ready as he crossed the field towards the playground and school. They had been looking from the road, making rounds, but with as many shadows as were present he was sure that a teenager could easily hide in any of the metal contraptions without being seen.

The play structures loomed larger as he approached them, menacing and dark in the night in a way that they wouldn't be during the day. He held his weapon at the ready, flashlight sitting on top of the barrel, keeping an eye out for any stray movements. All was silent. He was far enough from the road that he couldn't hear any traffic from the few passing cars, and the only light was the moon overhead, his flashlight, and the glow from a light inside the school.

As he checked around, peeking into places he couldn't walk through, and walking around those he could, the sense of danger gradually passed. Everything seemed empty, and he began to think Susa was right in thinking the missing kid was just fine, somewhere, at someone else's house.

His foot crunched on something, pushing him off balance. He looked down, he couldn't really see what it was until he shone his small flashlight on it. It was a set of keys, just three, with a keychain in the shape of a slightly-crushed dog that had probably been un-crushed before his own shoe had stepped on it.

He looked around again, still empty, no sign of anyone, and he picked up the keys and stuck them in his pocket. Best case, or possibly worst, they belonged to their missing person, otherwise someone may report them missing.

The light inside the school flickered at the edge of his vision and it took him a few seconds to realize it was the movement of someone crossing between him and the light. He turned quickly then, searching again for any movement and still seeing nothing. Briefly he considered his options: someone was outside and hiding from him very well, or, someone was _inside_ the building, in which case he should investigate.

He reported his location to Susa and checked the time, he still had fifteen minutes before they were due to meet up, plenty of time to do a routine round of scouting around the school, provided he could get inside without too much trouble.

 

The hallways were dark, only lit by the emergency lights in select doorways and every footstep echoed on the vinyl floors. In the distance he could see the light he had seen from the outside, coming from what appeared to be a gymnasium. 

He approached cautiously, checking down every side hallway, scanning for movement, before moving closer to the gym. He still didn't hear anything but his own heartbeat and footsteps, and he'd seen nothing beyond the one flicker of light from the playground. 

The door to the gym was open, propped with a doorstop, and Harasawa entered. Only two rows of overhead lights were lit, casting half-shadows on the floor where the lights didn't reach. In the center of the room were two figures, one with a knife to the other's throat.

It was Imayoshi, the man holding the knife, and Harasawa would have bet anything that the teenager in his grasp was their missing person. He was white, shaking in fear and Harasawa could see where parts of his clothes were already slashed and a smear of red ran down his neck. 

"So it is you, at last, Enforcer." Imayoshi's voice was sharp, confident, and Harasawa shivered at the force behind it.

"Drop the knife." Harasawa said through clenched teeth. It was hard to speak, every word seemed likely to betray him before it escaped his mouth, but at his request Imayoshi pulled the knife away from the boy's throat. The boy didn't move, despite the removal of the threat, until Imayoshi stepped away from him and spread his arms. The mirroring of the movements, from the time in the warehouse where he'd asked Harasawa to check his coefficient, hit him like a bullet to the chest, and he stood dazed when the boy collapsed, and then scrambled up and ran for the door.

Imayoshi was quick, though he didn't use the blade in his hand. He pulled the Dominator from his belt, and without breaking eye contact with Harasawa, aimed and shot the boy. He splattered into gore, a puddle spreading on the wooden gymnasium floors. Imayoshi didn't even blink as he stepped forward, closer to the frozen Harasawa with every step.

"I knew you'd catch me eventually, Katsunori, I almost was waiting on you, but I didn't think it would be tonight." He stepped closer and Harasawa raised his Dominator.

_Crime Coefficient: 17.6, Trigger Locked_ , the voice said in his ear, but he kept it raised.

"That's a nice scarf you're wearing, though I'd like to see how you look after last night."

Harasawa spread his feet slightly wider, standing as strong as he could with the useless Dominator in his hands. Imayoshi was close now, only a few feet away. He'd holstered his own, but the knife in his hand was still long and sharp. Harasawa knew precisely how fast he would be dead when Imayoshi chose to move.

He heard clatter of movement from the doorway and saw Imayoshi's eyes flicker towards it and back to Harasawa.

"Drop the weapon, Inspector!" It was Susa's voice, not as soft as usual, but just as stern, echoing across the room. Out of the corner of his eye Harasawa could see Wakamatsu was beside him.

Imayoshi paid him no mind and took another step closer to Harasawa. 

“Take the scarf off for me, Katsunori, please.” Imayoshi said quietly, words like a caress, and Harasawa felt his own hands moving. He put away his useless Dominator and reached towards his jacket. Susa’s voice echoed again in the background, growing increasingly desperate with every plea that Imayoshi ignored. 

He unzipped his jacket, slowly, and began to pull at his scarf with one hand. Imayoshi smiled. Harasawa lifted his other hand, to unwind the fabric, and instead reached inside his jacket and pulled out his pistol. 

He fired three rounds into Imayoshi’s chest and watched as he fell like a stone. Susa shouted again, this time Harasawa didn’t hear the words, and he sunk to his knees. 

Susa and Wakamatsu were running, crossing the gym quickly until they both stood between him and Imayoshi. Imayoshi was still breathing, and it rattled in his chest like wind through shutters.

“What are you?” Susa asked, looking down at Imayoshi. Harasawa wondered if he really expected an answer and smiled a little at the prospect of it. Susa turned to him, Dominator still poised. 

“Enforcer Harasawa.” He said, and Harasawa knew what words would come next. His pistol clattered to the floor when it fell from his limp fingers. “You’ve broken the law.” He could only imagine the numbers the voice in Susa’s head was telling him as the Dominator switched, moving from locked to _Lethal Eliminator_ mode in the blink of an eye. 

“I’m sorry.” He said. 

He pulled the trigger and in that final second Harasawa thought he heard the thick, wet sound of Imayoshi’s laughter.


End file.
